XIII Hearts
by Five Minute Obsessions
Summary: Thirteen drabbles, one centered on each member of Organization XIII - their pasts, lives as Nobodies, and ultimate fates. III: "I think... I do believe I loved her."
1. I: The Knight

**XIII Drabble Challenge  
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_Introduction: My sister and I, FootloosePheonix, have created our own challenge where we write thirteen drabbles, one centered upon each member of Organization XIII. It promises to be an interesting challenge, one that'll certainly get us writing about characters we don't usually play with! I chose to do Xemnas first since he is, of course, Number I. Surprisingly enough, writing his wasn't difficult at all, although I am in a little bit of shock that I wrote Xemnas angst. Anyone else who wants to take up the XIII Drabble challenge is welcome to go for it. I'm sure we aren't the first to write a challenge like this. Anyhow, please enjoy.  
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I_: _T_he _K_night**

He had not always been this, a leader of rogues and nothing-people. It was hard for him to recall now, for a person's heart is the anchor of their memories, and he had none, and so over time he'd felt them simply… slipping away. Now it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to remember, difficult for him to imagine a time when he'd been anything else but this. He told himself he didn't care; that it was impossible for him _to _care—but sometimes, when he was alone in one of the great towers of the Castle That Never Was, standing in front of one of the windows bathing in the glow of Kingdom Hearts, he could feel his memories floating somewhere out there in the abyss. He would close his eyes, and if he called to them, they would come, flooding back into his consciousness like long-forgotten dreams, filling in the empty spaces, and if only for a fleeting moment, he could feel whole again. He could remember… remember the Other, remember the man he used to be, remember his face, and his name…

Xehanort.

He had worn a long, clean white coat, crisp and starched. With his white hair, he used to fancy he looked like something of a white knight, and he carried himself with a great sense of dignity, of purpose. His pursuit had been noble, his intentions good—if not entirely pure. In many ways, he _had _been a knight—a knight of civilization, with the most righteous cause of all, that of knowledge and of truth. A scientist. He and his colleagues had been constantly fighting against the forces of ignorance and superstition that seized the minds of the simple townsfolk that inhabited the Garden, battling the paranoid whisperings of what, exactly, the experiments they conducted in the castle entailed. They'd had to face angry, ridiculous and outrageous accusations. Not a day went by when one of them was not verbally assaulted by some delusional peasant, their eyes bulging madly, frothing at the mouth as they screamed that their work was going against God's will.

"My dear friends," Ansem had merely chuckled. "We are not going against God's will; we are discovering it!"

A placating answer, to be sure, especially when spoken by one with the Professor's charisma, but as much as he had adored Ansem the Wise, Xehanort had never believed in God.

But he had believed in their work; although it was painstaking, every tiny bit of research, every hour he had spent poring over pages and pages of endless calculations, every experiment—whether failed or successful—brought him closer to unraveling the secrets of the heart. Soon, he had known, all knowledge would lie in their hands. They would have the answers they sought. They would have their theory of everything.

And then Ansem betrayed them. Just as they were on the cusp of several major breakthroughs, ones that would change the world(s) as they knew them, the Professor succumbed to doubt and cowardice. He burned their research, and all of their notes and experiments, everything they had worked so hard for, all of that invaluable _knowledge _went up in flames.

Shortly thereafter, Ansem went into hiding.

Standing in the ashes of what had promised to be his legacy, Xemnas's Other was left a broken man, his life's work and all he had fought so hard for destroyed by the one person he had come to so admire and respect. He hated Ansem for that, detested him for his weakness, his foolishness. But not all was lost, Xehanort knew. Although his notes and equipment were gone, Ansem could never have robbed him of what he had learned, the discoveries he had made.

And so he stepped into the darkness and allowed it to envelope him, succumbed to the same darkness of which he knew all hearts sprung in order to gain control over it. By sacrificing his heart to transcend its weakness, he made some truly astonishing discoveries about the nature of people's hearts, and the power that they held… and now, here he was, working tirelessly so that he might partake of that power.

Ansem would have been proud.

"Superior?" A voice behind Xemnas inquired. He had not noticed the presence of another in the room with him; his gaze was fixated upon Kingdom Hearts, and all of his attention had been focused upon it. Xemnas did not look to identify the source of the voice as he replied.

"Yes, Number VII?"

"Are you… crying?"

Xemnas blinked. He reached up and touched his face hesitantly with two gloved fingers and found, with something akin to surprise, that it was wet. As Xemnas gazed at his hand, the black leather material glistened slightly, shining in the golden-red glow of glorious light emanating from Kingdom Hearts.

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Ending notes: I invite one and all to review and be as heartless, cold, cruel and merciless about my writing as you see fit. If that isn't your style, a note telling me if you enjoyed it would be lovely. :)  
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	2. II: Goodbye To All That

_Author's ramblings:__ This drabble has quite a different tone from Xemnas's, not nearly as much angst but with a touch of humour that reflects Xigbar's sensibilities. (I hope.) I must confess that it's not easy writing about a character that doesn't get much attention or development within the canon. All the same, Xigbar needs more love. I do believe he's the only scary pirate/sharpshooter/surfer dude character I've ever encountered_. _Plus, his catchphrase is "Oopsy daisy." How do you get any more awesome than that?_

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II: G_oodbye _T_o _A_ll _T_hat**_  
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His mom had always told him not to play with guns, or else he'd shoot his eye out, but had he listened? Nooo.

Briag had been a good boy. He'd gone to a nice school and gotten a proper education, just like his mummy and daddy had wanted. He'd spent his whole time there, at Radiant Garden Academy, studying nothing but _rules_, rules like Einstein's Theory of General Relativity, rules like gravity, rules that dictated how fast an object could travel, rules that told how the universe could behave—rules, rules, rules. It wasn't like he wasn't good at his studies or that he didn't understand all of it; he'd usually been able to find enough time between drinking and partying to get some study time in, and when he did he passed his tests easily enough. It wasn't like he was stupid or anything. It was just all so friggin' _boring. _Briag had spent his entire adolescence sitting in stuffy classrooms, listening to teachers dictate rules, talk about what was impossible, and what he was not, under any circumstances, allowed to do—and he'd been getting really tired of it.

So he dropped out, much to his mummy and daddy's chagrin, and soon found himself apprenticing under some dude named Ansem. The old man had once described Briag as having a brilliant mind, in spite of the fact that he'd never graduated, and truth be told he wasn't quite how to react or even whether or not he should even believe Ansem, as it was something he'd never had anyone say about him before. "Young man, your thoughts are unbounded by the pretentious limitations and conventions that contemporary teachers strive to impose on budding scientists these days. I believe you would be invaluable to have on our team."

At first, what they were doing sounded like fun, conducting new experiments and doing things that no one had ever done before, even if a lot of people thought it was a bad idea. They were breaking the rules, sticking it to The Man, raging against the machine. Briag had been down with that.

But then it had turned out to be a sham. Turned out they weren't _really _breaking the rules, they were just figuring out more to add to the list, searching for the rules for how a heart could behave. Briag had found out a few of those for himself, like the one about how _his _heart wasn't allowed to fall in love with the Professor's fourteen-year-old daughter. Then the old man had backed out of the project and burned all of their research. Disheartened, disillusioned, and overall just really pissed off, Briag fell back on his old habits of partying and drinking. From there on in, it was a slow descent into Hell.

But Xigbar was cool with all that; he didn't care. In fact, he didn't even remember most of his Other's life. He'd forgotten it as soon as he became a Nobody and let those memories go without a fuss or any of the fake angst that Xemnas insisted on generating constantly. All Xigbar knew was that he was _glad _to be dead. He was glad to be a Nobody. But most of all, he was glad to be shot of all those stupid _rules. _(Not that he could technically be glad about anything, but whatever, who cared?) Screw his mom; he could play with guns if he wanted to. Screw Einstein; he could stand on the ceiling and shoot at his target if the urge struck him. Screw physics! He could curve the bullets from his rifles in any direction he wanted (which weren't even real bullets, by the way, they were rays of hyper concentrated energy.) He was the Freeshooter. The rules didn't apply to him anymore.

As twisted as it might've sounded, in Xigbar's Other's final moments, as he was being consumed by darkness, he'd felt no fear or sorrow at the thought that he was about to leave everything he knew. Rather, he'd been _happy_. He had been happy to say goodbye to all that.

And then, he'd been nothing at all.

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_Ending ramblings:__ Oh boy. Xaldin's drabble comes next, so expect a slight drag until I write the next chapter._


	3. III: Of Beasts And Gentlemen

**_III: O_f _B_easts _A_nd _G_entlemen**

Belle continued to struggle long after most would have given up, hung their pretty heads in defeat and waited for their heroes to come save them. Xaldin watched dispassionately as she strained against the thick ropes that bound her tightly to an old wooden chair. Its legs were unbalanced, causing the chair to rattle noisily against the floor as she squirmed, the only noise in the dusty, otherwise silent room besides Belle's somewhat unladylike grunting as she tried to free herself. Some of the other members of the Organization might have feigned annoyance at the unrelenting noise—some of the more superficial emotions, such as irritation, being within their capabilities—and demanded that she stop, but Xaldin simply observed her coldly. Several long, tense minutes passed like this, and when he finally spoke there was no annoyance or irritation in his tone, but perhaps a hint of real curiosity.

"Why don't you just give up?"

Belle glanced up at him, eyes narrowed, and for a moment the incessant rattling stopped. Xaldin noted that a strand of brunette hair had fallen out of place from her ponytail and now hung in front of her left eye, marring her perfect appearance slightly. "Because that's what you want," she replied curtly. There was a ragged quality in her voice that indicated she was a bit out of breath from her efforts. "What are you going to do with me?" She demanded.

Xaldin smiled lightly, eyes glittering and cold. "Oh, don't worry, my dear. I don't plan to do anything with you if your hero and the Keyblade Master come to save you. Of course, that is _if _they _do _come and save you…" Xaldin crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at her silently for a moment, during which she resumed her hopeless attempts at escape. Something about this girl intrigued him in a way he was quite unaccustomed to. Something about her demeanor brought to mind certain things he thought he had long forgotten—not memories, exactly, but memories of memories, ghosts of dead emotions he'd thought had sunken to the bottom of the black, empty depths of his consciousness.

"You remind me of a woman I once knew," Xaldin said suddenly, startling both Belle and himself simultaneously. Xaldin did not usually divulge his thoughts to anybody unless he was required to, especially not to strangers such as this girl. She was a mere pawn in his plans, and he was fully aware she wasn't worthy of such attention. But yet, this _thing _he was experiencing in her company, this memory of a memory, was so fleeting, yet at the same time, persistent, that Xaldin felt the need to make it real somehow, to speak it aloud, so he continued. "She was so like you, clever, courageous, lovelier than any flower…" He trailed off. Belle eyed him suspiciously, as if she thought he might be playing some sort of trick, but as Xaldin continued her expression began to soften.

"I remember," he murmured, the words becoming true as they passed his lips, "I remember we used to sit in the garden together, and she would ready poetry to me. The works of Shakespeare; Romeo and Juliet was her favourite. Her voice inflected the words with a beauty beyond measure or comparison. I think…" he hesitated once more, though he decided in a moment it was needless; these things had happened long ago, and they could no longer hurt him, so if he felt the need to speak them aloud there was nothing to hold him back. "I do believe I loved her."

"What was her name?" Belle asked softly.

"Grace." A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, though it quickly flickered and died. "She was taken by the Heartless. The creatures thrive on strong hearts, and hers attracted them. They infested her home. She died trying to protect her family."

Belle lowered her gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Wordlessly Xaldin bent down on one knee and knelt before her, studying her closely, and she glanced up at him quickly. She still regarded him with a certain degree of wariness, but it was different now. He could see pity and empathy shining in her eyes, and as he gazed into them, Xaldin saw himself transformed, no longer the monster who had kidnapped her and tormented her beloved but perhaps something a little more than that. No longer just a monster, but a man. He realized suddenly that this was what he had wanted from her all along. He'd needed her, needed her to remind him that he had once been more than this, if only for the simple reason that he didn't have a heart… but she did.

"May I ask you a question, Belle?" He inquired politely, surprising them both once again. His tone sounded slightly odd even to him—he had become so accustomed to voicing threats, orders, and demands that he had nearly forgotten his manners. (There were no gentlemen in the Organization, after all.)

"I—well," Belle stuttered, "You've told me something very personal about yourself, so now I can't imagine saying no."

"Very well. How is it that a young lady as lovely as yourself can put up with the beast that lives in this castle?"

In a flash the empathy in Belle's eyes was gone. Her mouth set into a firm, hard line. "He's under a curse. That's the only thing about him that makes him beastly."

Xaldin smirked. "I beg to differ. Surely you're not that naïve, my dear? You are a more beautiful person, inside and out, than he will ever be. No matter what form he takes, man or beast, deep down there will always be that part of him that is _beast, _that will be cold and aloof, that will turn away at your affections, that will hurt you, and continue to hurt you for as long as you both shall live, all the while failing to appreciate how truly beautiful you are. Surely you know that, princess?"

Belle glared at him. "Perhaps you shouldn't be asking me. Maybe you should be asking _yourself _why Grace put up with _you._"

Before he even realized what he was doing, Xaldin slapped her across the face. Her head twisted to the side with the force of his gloved hand on her cheek, and she winced in pain. When she recovered she glared at him once again, defiance shining in her eyes along with startled tears, knowing she had won. There was an angry red mark blooming on her face where he had hit her. Xaldin wished dearly that he felt something, some sort of remorse or even the tiniest twinge of regret knowing he had harmed the perfect creature tied helplessly to a chair before him, but, as usual, he felt nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

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_Author's ramblings:__ Hmm, that was finished quicker than I thought. Xaldin is an interesting character in his own right, so that made him easier to characterize than I would've imagined—easier than Xigbar, actually. What intrigues me about him is that here you've got this scary-looking guy (whom my sister calls "hairy") who looks like someone you definitely would _not _want to meet in a dark alley—hair done up in black braids, crazy eyebrows and fuzzy sideburns, is one of the more muscly members of Organization XIII, wields SIX, count 'em, SIX lances—but he has this refined manner of speaking that gives him an almost gentleman-like quality._

_Kudos goes to my sister for giving me the idea to write crack Xaldin/Belle, which I am now actually unintentionally shipping. I knew this challenge would make me break out of all my usual conventions. I guess it's only Xaldin/Belle if you want it to be, though. Whatever._

_I'd like to thank my reviewers thus far, Kairi the Strong, L'Opalnoir, and Somebody's Dreamer. Again I encourage one and all to review, as I'll admit I enjoy feedback as much as the next writer, and I'm quite eager to hear people's reactions to my portrayal of Xaldin. Love it? Hate it? Thought it was a tad off? If you have thoughts, I would love to hear them._

_If you DON'T have thoughts, well, I'd love to hear your non-thoughts, too. :P_


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